


Never Meant to Know

by minaminty



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1960s, Character Study, Family Dynamics, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Memory Loss, Nationverse, dedicated to the 5 people in this fandom who love seborga!!, i'm rambling in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minaminty/pseuds/minaminty
Summary: Seborga, founded early summer of 1963, claims to not remember a single thing before waking up. The weeks that follow prove him wrong to an intense degree. With that burden, he wonders if he'll ever fit in with his found family, or if he'll fade into obscurity.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Never Meant to Know

**Author's Note:**

> it's four am in the morning.

He woke up in a bed surrounded by two men. And there was no concern on his face, only the thought that his comforter was awfully soft. That he was tucked in under a knitted red blanket. A pair of twins looked over him.

_Him?_

Seborga looked at his hands, pulling the blanket away to see his body better.

 _Him._ That was all right for now, that was what he was comfortable with. Seborga didn't rub his eyes. He didn't attempt to get up, he laid back down and tried to get back to sleep. It was going well for a total of five seconds before the darker haired brother barked at him to get up. The one that hadn't shouted at him touched his arm, not able to control his volume as he asked for Seborga's name.

The easiest question that would come that afternoon. "Seborga," he said. It was ingrained in him, all nations knew who they were. It also seemed to be the answer the brothers were expecting, shooting each other a quick look.

"I'm Italy," the one on the right introduced.

"South Italy," the one on the left introduced. With a bit more bite, an emphasis on south _._ "Romano is... fine."

With the mildly pleasant greetings out of the way, Seborga sensed more intense questioning to come. Romano turned to his brother and through grit teeth, not so subtly said, "Why isn't he a baby? A _toddler_?" He gripped the nightstand with one hand, muttering, "Isn't that how it works?"

"Well..." Italy shrugged. After a few seconds, Seborga realized that was the best answer he could come up with. Even the nations didn't know. Seborga looked down at his form. He was young, but had nothing to compare himself to. He looked the exact age as these other men. Was he supposed to be younger? Smaller?

Seborga waited for a few moments, pondering on these thoughts before asking, "Did I mess up?"

The reaction was immediate. Romano covered his face, mumbling, "God, _no_." Italy seemed shocked that he could ever ask that, shaking his head rapidly. Somehow Seborga wasn't convinced though, sighing. He supposed if their instinct was right, there'd have to be an explanation. If he wasn't a baby, he had to exist for some time before this. And he knew that he existed, that he was in his home. He once lived here.

He didn't remember a single thing. All nations knew who they were. With names, at least. Their identity had to be crafted out of the base given. Molded out of the mold. Seborga knew who he was, he didn't know who he was. The mold he was given was completely flat, with no nooks to fill in.

Seborga caught notice of Italy staring at him then. What happened next was a blur, but Italy grabbed a lock of his hair and pulled it down. He didn't react in time, Romano yelling, "Feli! It's real, goddamn it!"

Like he touched hot iron, Italy let go. Leaving Seborga to touch the same bit of hair, the curl that would not go down no matter how he pushed and forced. It was a struggle he gave up on easily. He would find a mirror soon, to see how bad that looked.

Now that he was thinking about his appearance, he wasn't even sure what he looked like yet.

* * *

He didn't adapt to technology as well as the brothers expected. Seborga was sure they had grown tired of the constant amazement he had for the most basic of things. He would jump back whenever the shower turned on, not able to connect the lever to the water that shot out. Most things with a lever or handle shocked him, in fact. The first time he saw a plane cross the sky, he was convinced the world was ending.

It was unusual for a nation to not be able to adapt. As if Seborga had attached himself to a world without these luxuries.

The latest amazement was the jukebox. He pressed a button and looked around as upbeat music began to play.

"Where are the musicians?" he asked.

Romano cursed as Italy answered that it was recorded. Turning into a question of how sound could be recorded. If it would be there forever. Seborga waited out the entire song just to play it again. It sounded exactly the same, down to the individual note.

"Oh..." was the only noise to escape him.

They ate together in that same restaurant, hearing the same jazzy song play over and over again because Seborga was convinced those musicians would slip up once. Italy, through bites of food, tried to understand. Sounding as sympathetic someone busy with their dinner could, Italy asked, "Why does everything seem so strange to you, Seborga?"

"I don't know," he answered, not sure if he was being honest. He picked at his chicken. The dish seemed familiar to him, based off of description alone, but he guessed he wouldn't eat too much of it. "I don't expect anything. I shouldn't."

He expected a good response. Not the awkward staring the brothers would do. Seborga bounced in his chair and willed them to say something. Anything.

"Do you want to see the other countries?" Romano asked.

This time, it was Italy biting back a response, murmuring, "But he's not..." He smiled instead of continuing.

"He's an Italian nation and he's coming with us." And though Romano would never want to hear it, Seborga had noted that was the first time the brothers have acknowledged him as a nation. Maybe to spare his feelings. Not a lot of Italians knew he even existed. Seborga wasn't even sure if he was a nation, but to hear it from Romano's mouth was validation enough. He'd take what he could get.

* * *

Seborga waited outside the meeting room. He could hear the overlapping voices of many nations. Notably British and French accented voices shouting over each other. One loud yell cutting through, and then the mumbling of his brothers. He was going to be introduced. Analyzed, probably interrogated. He tried to convince himself that it would be fun. He bounced his leg. Seborga was excited, not nervous. He wondered if he was either trying to convince himself, or having to remind himself.

The first person outside of Italy and Romano to see his face was a poised man, a bang elegantly covering one of his eyes. He shook Seborga's hand and asked for his name. "I'm Luxembourg," he said after, breaking their gloved hands up and putting his in his pockets.

"Are you like me?" Seborga asked.

"No, no," Luxembourg quickly said with a smile, "They're calling you a micronation. I'm a microstate."

Seborga almost asked if that distinction really had to be made. He learned minutes later that it was. That Italy's government did not recognize him. Actually, that he wasn't even noticed yet. "Not out of a lack of trying," Italy said, after swearing to Germany he was making an honest attempt, "I try to tell my boss. He thinks I'm delusional, but he's _right here."_ Seborga is shaken from side to side by Italy to prove his point. He _was_ real.

He clenched his fists. Looking up at Germany, he grinned and said, "Yeah. I'm a nation."

Germany skipped over him with his eyes. He looked down at the stack of papers in his hand instead, muttering, "Well, Seborga, here's your work."

Seborga groaned when he was handed the papers, but a light feeling set in. Acknowledgement. It felt nice.

* * *

"Hello?" a high-pitched voice echoed down the hallway. The nation, dressed in an olive green frock, darted around the palace. He bent down to pull up his stockings before continuing to search the building. It was a warm summer, and he couldn't find anyone familiar to him. Human, human, nothing that suggested a nation was here. "Hello?" he repeated, louder.

It was 1815, and Seborga was born out of a treaty signing. Or perhaps he hadn't remembered it right.

Perhaps it was after the first World War. Maybe it was 1918, and maybe it had been in Italy instead of Austria. Born a young child, wandering the streets of Italy and introducing himself only to get "who?" in response. It was almost comical. Seborga would laugh every time, laughing so hard his hat would drift away. Back to running again for him.

Maybe it was that year, but Seborga wouldn't accept it if it were true.

He refused to believe his birth was an accident, that he could only exist because of an oversight.

It was 1963 when he was founded. _And he did not exist before then._

* * *

There would be a companion for him in the years to come. England sighed as he introduced Sealand to Seborga, pulling his brother aside to lecture him. He was quiet for once, so Seborga couldn't catch what rules he was rambling on about. But Sealand bounded towards him as quick as he could, and they would run about outside the meeting room. Playing whatever games would amuse them for the hours they had.

Seborga realized after the first few meetings that this was the other nations' way of shutting him out. At that point though, he had experienced this dismissal from his own boss, his brothers on rare occasions. It didn't hurt anymore. All he needed to be a nation was his word. And it helped to have a fellow micronation with him, but he recognized that Sealand was... naive. Too young to understand why Seborga was tired some days, why Seborga could be so energetic one day, and so devoid the next.

The next micronation did.

It was a tired day. A lazy day, Seborga knew he would nap for hours and hours. He curled up on his secondhand couch and closed his eyes, too lethargic to even grab his familiar red blanket. It was fine though, as he woke up wrapped in a purple cape, doubling as a blanket for the time being. If his brothers couldn't understand him, he would find someone who did.

He had two families, and everyone seemed to understand that about him.


End file.
